


Sweeter Than A Kiss

by teacuphuman



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, First Time, Foreplay, M/M, Teasing, a dream to build a life on, all the feelings, viva la revolution!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: On a Tuesday in mid March, Grantaire's whole world changes.





	Sweeter Than A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kedgeree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/gifts).



> This is my first foray into writing for Les Mis, and I'm so happy I could do it for the lovely and patient Kedgeree, who asked for three days of foreplay! I hope I did all right!

On a Tuesday in mid March, Grantaire's whole world changes. It happens at the end of a long, boisterous night, when his friends and he are walking home from a meeting at the Musain. There's a rally in three days and they're expecting numbers unlike anything they've ever drawn. Enjolras is practically floating, prattling on about logistics and slogans, barely noticing when the others start to drift away, returning to their homes to rest.    
  
Grantaire follows Enjolras dutifully, tasked with seeing that he reaches home safely and doesn't end up walking into a light post or a bus stop while his mind is elsewhere. It's not an unfounded worry, it's happened, and it didn’t end well. Personally, Grantaire thinks the scar adds a little personality to Enjolras’ otherwise perfect face.    
  
When they reach Enjolras' door, he turns his wide eyes, so full of fire and righteousness, on Grantaire and it's all Grantaire can do not to take a step back in the face of his beauty. That's when Enjolras kisses him. 

 

Grantaire is so stunned he doesn’t kiss back, just stands there with his eyes open, wondering how Enjolras’ eyelashes can be so long. When Enjolras pulls back, he looks horrified, and worse, guilty.

 

“I’m so sorry, R. I didn’t, I thought. I’m so sorry,” he says gravely, his words stilted.

 

“Why?” Grantaire breathes, still unable to move.

 

“I should have asked permission. I was so sure you felt the same, and I, I’m very sorry.” Enjolras has gone red, his eyes darting everywhere but Grantaire’s face.

 

“I do.”

 

“You...do what?”

 

“Feel the same.”

 

Enjolras frowns, finally looking at him. “But you didn’t kiss me back.”

 

“I think I might be in shock,” Grantaire admits, holding up his hands to show Enjolras that they’re shaking.

 

Enjolras laughs, a smile breaking out over his face. “Can we try this again, then?”

 

“Yes, please.” Grantaire says with fervor.

 

“I’ve never heard you be so agreeable. I should have kissed you ages ago.”

 

Grantaire nods. “Yes, you should have, I’ve been waiting a long time.”

 

“Have you?” Enjolras asks, stepping closer and grabbing Grantaire by the front of his jacket. He runs his nose up Grantaire’s cheek, his breath hot and moist on Grantaire’s skin.

 

Grantaire opens his mouth to respond and Enjolras covers it with his own, his tongue taking the opportunity to slip inside. Grantaire groans and leans into it, his hands dragging Enjolras closer by his hips. Enjolras is a clumsy kisser, but he can work with that. He cups the back of Enjolras’ head and angles him slightly better, allowing their mouths to slot together and the kiss to deepen. The leather of his jacket creaks in Enjolras’ hands and Grantaire wants to lay him down on the grass right here and now.

 

“We should go inside,” he mutters between kisses, whimpering when Enjolras pulls away.

 

“It’s nearly two a.m.”

 

“Mmm,” Grantaire hums, mouthing at Enjolras’ neck because he’s waited to be able to do this forever and he’s not keen on stopping anytime soon now that he’s allowed.

 

“I’m tired.”

 

Grantaire freezes, pulling away. “You’re tired.”

 

Enjolras strokes a finger over Grantaire's mouth, making his lips tingle. “I’ve been up nearly twenty-four hours and I’m beat. I want to do it right, not just right now.”

 

“Can’t we do both?” Grantaire asks, nipping at Enjolras’ finger.

 

Enjolras laughs. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

 

Grantaire sighs. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried this is a fever dream and I’m going to wake up to find none of it was real.”

 

“Does that happen often?”

 

“More than you’d believe,” Grantaire says miserably.

 

A sly smile curves over Enjolras’ mouth, and if Grantaire thought he was a menace before, it’s nothing compared to what he’s going to be from now on. “What if I leave you something to remember me by? Proof that I’ll still want you tomorrow.”

 

Grantaire swallows against the lump in his throat. “That, that would be very kind of you.”

 

Enjolras nudges his head up and to the side, his chilled fingers sliding over Grantaire’s pulsepoint. His lips are slightly chapped, but his mouth is hot when it latches onto the sensitive skin of Grantaire's neck, sucking with intent. His hands grab Enjolras’ shoulders for support when blunt teeth scrape across the spot, biting down firm and quick. Enjolras’ tongue soothes the mark and he gives one last, strong suck before he kisses Grantaire’s neck gently and draws away. Grantaire touches the spot with shaky fingers, feeling the raised, slick skin.

 

“Lovely,” Enjolras breathes, and there’s a pride and possessiveness in his eyes that makes Grantaire shiver.   
  
“Until tomorrow, then?” Grantaire says, unable to stop touching the mark.

 

“Tomorrow,” Enjolras assures him. “I have class, but I’ll see you at the Musain at eight. We still have a lot to do before the rally.”

 

“The rally. Right. I kind of forgot about that.”

 

Enjolras bends down to kiss him again, light and fleeting. “Tomorrow.”

 

Grantaire watches him go, bounding up the stairs and through the door. Enjolras gives him a small wave before he goes in and Grantaire stands there, staring at the chipped blue paint until it starts to rain.

 

When he gets to his flat, soaked through and shivering violently, he strips down in the entrance and hurries into the bathroom, turning the tap all the way to the left and stares at himself in the mirror while the water heats up. The mark on his neck is still red and raised and he prods at it, wincing. A love bite. Enjolras gave him a love bite. He’s grinning like a fool as he stumbles into the shower and gets a hand around himself. Enjolras’s words come back to him then, stilling his movements.  _ I want to do it right, not just right now _ . Grantaire is aching, but if Enjolras wants him to wait, he’ll wait. It’ll make it better, he reasons. Pleasure is found first in anticipation, and all that jazz. They’ll have their moment. Together. What’s one more night?

 

*******

Any fantasies Grantaire had been entertaining about Enjolras bending him over a table after the meeting the next night are dashed as soon as he enters the Musain. He can hear Enjolras shouting, his voice hard and angry as he tears into whoever was stupid enough to push him that far. 

 

For all that he’s filled with passion and righteous indignation, Enjolras isn’t quick to anger. It takes a lot to get him truly mad, and usually that honour is reserved for Grantaire when he’s drunk and decides his mission in life is to get a reaction out of his friend. It occurs to him now that all their arguing could now be considered foreplay.

 

Grantaire nods to Matelote behind the bar and bolts up the stairs, bursting into the room in time to see Combeferre’s arms wrap around Enjolras from behind and haul him back from the uniformed officer in front of him. 

 

“I would suggest, Monsieur,” the officer sneers. “That you and your...organization cancel your plans or face arrest when this riot of yours gets out of hand.”

 

“It’s a peaceful rally, not a riot. As we’ve told you several times now,” Courfeyrac says, visibly annoyed.

 

Grantaire raises his eyebrows at Eponine across the room where she’s holding the back of Gavroche’s shirt in her tight fist. Whoever this gendarme is, he’s got everyone on edge.

 

“Perhaps Monsieur simply doesn’t understand the difference,” Grantaire offers, drawing the man’s attention. “A peaceful rally is when people gather to voice their opposition to the status quo. To stand together in support of those who need their voices heard. A riot is what happens when the establishment refuses to listen.”

 

“Is that a threat?” the man asks, tilting his head to the side as though he’s sizing Grantaire up.

 

“Sounds more like a promise to me,” Marius says with him impish smile.

 

The man glares around the room. “You’ve all been warned. Any illegal disturbances and we’ll be coming for you first.” 

 

“Have a lovely day!” Grantaire calls after him. “Prick,” he mutters once they can hear the gendarme’s heavy steps on the stairs. “You’re all having fun without me again, it seems.” 

 

Combeferre pats Enjolras on the chest and releases him. Grantaire pours himself some wine from the bottle on the table, the glass halfway to his lips when he sees Enjolras push through the door to the short hallway that leads to the bathroom. Their eyes meet for a moment before the door closes, and Grantaire gulps down the claret. He makes no excuses as he hurries to follow, feeling at least a few sets of eyes on his back.

 

Enjolras is on him before he’s fully through the bathroom door, pulling him in and then shoving him back against the wall.

 

“Um, hello,” Grantaire stutters, groaning when Enjolras pushes his jacket open and presses into him. He’s not kissing Grantaire, but his lips are roaming over the skin of Grantaire’s neck and jaw.

 

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” Enjolras whispers, his tongue coming out to ghost over Grantaire’s adam’s apple.

 

“Ah, no?” he gasps, Enjolras’ leg sliding between his own.

 

“There’s a light in your eyes when you argue, and it makes my blood boil.”

 

“Good boil or bad boil? Because I feel like that’s an important distinction to make.”

 

Enjolras laughs quietly, his hands trailing down Grantaire’s chest, dropping lower to cup his cock through his jeans. “Good boil. Very good.”

 

“Oh, God,” Grantaire pants, his head falling back against the door. 

 

“I must admit I find it incredibly sexy when you flout authority.” Enjolras’ fingers are moving, working Grantaire to full hardness. Grantaire wants to answer with a witty remark, but all of his blood has gone south and it’s taking every ounce of concentration not to come in his pants.

 

“I have to start the meeting.”

 

“What?” he asks, lurching forward when Enjolras backs off. 

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lured you back here. I just, God, I can’t stop thinking about you.” Enjolras tells him, running his fingers through his hair.

 

Grantaire laughs, pulling Enjolras back to him by his belt loops. “You hardly lured me.”

 

“Still, this is neither the time, nor the place. When we finally do this, I want to take my time with you.” Enjolras tells him, his eyes dark and his voice dropping to a whisper.

 

Grantaire kisses him, deep and slow, drawing Enjolras’ tongue out of his mouth with his own, teasing him with gentle bites to his bottom lip. Enjolras’ hand slips under Grantaire’s shirt, fingers spreading over his side and travelling upwards and then someone’s banging on the door, reminding them that they are not, in fact, the only two people in the world.

 

Enjolras laughs and steps back. “You keep doing that to me.”

 

“Are you complaining?” Grantaire asks, still trying to catch his breath.

 

“Come home with me,” Enjolras blurts, his face flushing a deeper shade of pink than it already is. 

 

“Yes,” he agrees without hesitation, his words clipping the end of Enjolras’ request.

 

Enjolras smiles, biting his lip. The knocking starts again and Gavroche starts making rude comments from the other side of the door. Grantaire whips it open and shoves a hand in his face, sending Gavroche laughing into the wall. Enjolras slips past them, and back into the meeting room. If he gets even half the curious looks Grantaire does, he doesn’t let it affect him as he calls them to order and starts the meeting.

 

*******

Three hours later, and Grantaire is struggling to stay awake as Enjolras, Feuilly, and Bahorel argue about the finer points of crowd control. Feuilly is determined that no one get arrested and Bahorel and Enjolras are trying to explain that it’s inevitable because the gendarmes are gunning for them and aren’t above sending in rabble-rousers to give them cause. 

 

Marius falls into the chair beside him and slides his arm across Grantaire’s shoulders. “You can leave, you know. They’ll figure it out and let us know what the plan is.”

 

“I want to stay,” Grantaire says. Most of the others have cleared out, but he’s remained dutifully in his chair, waiting.

 

Marius laughs. “Since when?”

 

Grantaire shrugs because he has no idea if he and Enjolras are telling people they’re together and it’s too new for him to chance making a wrong move. 

 

“Enjolras was pretty hard, huh?” 

 

“What?” Grantaire sputters, nearly falling out of his chair.

 

“When he took you aside before the meeting. It wasn’t terribly subtle. At least if he was going to scold you for back talking Javert he could have done it where we wouldn’t all know about it. I thought what you said was funny, and it’s not like Enj wasn’t two minutes from being arrested for assaulting an officer.”

 

Grantaire relaxes, his gaze flitting quickly over to Enjolras. “That was Javert?” he asks to distract Marius.

 

“The one and only. He hates Cosette’s father. I don’t know the history, but from what Valjean has said, we shouldn’t take threats from him lightly.”

 

“Have you told them this?” Grantaire nods towards the front of the room where Combeferre and Courfeyrac have joined the argument.

 

“Courfeyrac came to the house and spoke with him last week. Valjean told him he’d have bail money ready and suggested we try not to get our heads bashed in.” Marius is smiling, but there’s worry in his eyes. He and Cosette are newly married and he’s got more to lose these days. As does Grantaire, it seems.

 

“Why don’t I take your part at the rally? You stay behind and take the calls from the commisseriate. You can come bail us out and I’ll try to keep this lot out of trouble.”

 

“You? You’re going to wade into the fray and pull these lunatics to safety?” Marius looks at him like he’s insane.

 

“Why not? I can fend for myself.”

 

“I know, but it’s not like you to fend for anyone else. You might have to carry a sign.”

 

“I have arms,” Grantaire says, raising them in the air and dropping them back into his lap. Enjolras frowns over at him.

 

“You’re sure about this?” Marius asks, angling himself so he can turn the full force of his frown on Grantaire.

 

Grantaire rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Stop looking at me like that, it’s not like I don’t always play my part in all of this.”

 

“Alright, I’m sorry. I’ll let Courfeyrac know that I’m on bail duty and you’ll be marching with them.” Marius stands and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Thank you, Grantaire.”

 

Grantaire looks up at him, at the quiet relief that’s in his eyes, the more relaxed set of his shoulders, and nods. Marius calls out a farewell to the others and leaves. Combeferre frowns at his watch and starts to gather his things, but Enjolras is still arguing with Feuilly. 

 

Bahorel’s yawn makes his jaw crack and he throws in the towel, shaking his head as he walks toward Grantaire. “You coming?” 

 

“No, I’ve got to get my designs approved by our fearless leader.” It’s not a lie exactly, but it’s enough to satisfy Bahorel.

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

When Grantaire looks over again, Enjolras is fiddling with the straps of his messenger bag and stealing quick glances over at him. He struggles to hide a smirk and stands, raising his hands above his head to stretch out his tired joints, bending backwards with a small groan. Enjolras’ eyes are full of heat as he starts toward him, draping the straps of his bag across his chest and giving him a smile that’s full of promise.

 

“R, can you do me a favour?” Eponine asks, stepping into his line of sight and bringing Enjolras up short.

 

“Um, that depends on what it is,” he tells her, giving Enjolras a look of apology.

 

“Can Gavroche stay with you tonight? I have...a prior commitment and if I leave him alone he’ll sneak out and probably get himself arrested.”

 

“I will not!” Gavroche argues.

 

“Really? You’ll stay put and go to bed?” Eponine crosses her arms and gives him an unimpressed look.

 

“No, I meant I won’t get arrested. With this face I can get away with anything.” Gavroche smiles at them, looking the furthest from innocent Grantaire has ever seen.

 

“Please, R. I’ll owe you.”

 

“Of course he will,” Enjolras says from behind her.

 

“I will?” Grantaire raises his eyebrows at him.

 

Enjolras smiles and there’s nothing but fondness in his eyes. “Yes, because you’re a good friend and a noble person. There’s nothing that can’t wait when a friend is in need.”

 

“Are you sure about that?” Grantaire asks, dryly.

 

“Absolutely. I’ll even walk you and Gavroche back to your flat.”

 

Eponine is looking from one of them to the other, a frown marring her pretty face. “What’s going on here?”

 

“What?” Enjolras asks, his face going a little pink.

 

“Enjolras was coming over to check on my progress with the poster designs, anyway, it’s nothing.” Grantaire tells her.

 

“You couldn’t have brought them with you?” Gavroche asks.

 

Grantaire shrugs. “I forgot them.”

 

Eponine nods because that’s something Grantaire would do, and Enjolras doesn’t correct them so Grantaire supposes he has the answer to whether or not they’re telling people about this.

 

They part ways outside the Musain, Eponine and Combeferre heading west and completely failing to hide the fact that they’re going that way together. Gavroche leads the way to Grantaire’s, wandering along the side of the road and kicking stones while he hums to himself. Enjolras’ arm brushes against Grantaire’s enough for it not to be an accident, and he leans into it a little when he knows Gavroche isn’t looking.

 

By the time they turn onto his street, Enjolras’s hand is ghosting over Grantaire’s ass as they walk. It slides up and a warm, dry palm splays over his spine, under his shirt and just above the waist of his jeans, making his skin tingle. Grantaire’s heart is in his throat and he’s internally cursing everyone and everything that conspired to keep him out of Enjolras’ bed again tonight.

 

Gavroche is waiting for them at the front of the building, crouching down in front of Grantaire’s livingroom window. Enjolras’ fingers dip into his jeans and Grantaire stumbles over his own feet, running a few steps ahead to keep from falling on his face.

 

“Smooth,” Gavroche laughs, putting away a penknife.

 

“What were you doing to my window?” Grantaire demands, ignoring how warm his face feels.

 

Gavroche shrugs. “Seeing if I could get it open from the outside.”

 

“Did you succeed?” Enjolras inquires, stepping up to them, looking completely at ease and not at all like his hand was just in Grantaire’s pants.

 

“Almost. You should really buy a lock for it. Another minute and I would have been able to slip in and steal all your shit.”

 

“You don’t think I’d know it was you by the clown-sized footprints you left in the dirt outside?” Grantaire asks and Gavroche frowns down at his large feet. Eponine says he’s like a puppy, not yet grown into his paws.

 

“I’m pretty sure pointing that out is just going to ensure he covers his tracks when he actually does it.” Enjolras points out.

 

“Someone has to teach me the finer points of being a career criminal, who better than you two?” Gavroche grins and slips through the door Grantaire is holding open.

 

“We’re not criminals,” Enjolras says, and he sounds so offended it makes Grantaire’s heart swell.

 

“But you’re not exactly law abiders,” Gavroche points out. “How many times have you been arrested?”

 

“That’s irrelevant. I’ve never been convicted of anything.”

 

“To be fair that has more to do with Valjean’s lawyers than with the nature of our actions,” Grantaire says, unlocking his door and letting Gavroche go in first.

 

Enjolras gapes at him. “Whose side are you on?”

 

Grantaire closes the door the moment Gavroche clears the threshold, ignoring the boy’s protest, and pushes Enjolras up against the wall. “Whose side am I on? I could ask you the same thing.  _ Oh, R’s so kind and good, he’ll keep an eye on Gav so you can go pretend you’re not sleeping with Combeferre, _ ” he hisses. “If you changed your mind about me coming over, you could have just told me.”

 

Enjolras looks confused for a second, then he kisses Grantaire, hard and quick. “I didn’t change my mind.”

 

“Oh,” Grantaire says, feeling stupidly giddy just from the heat of Enjolras’ lips on his.

 

“But you are kind, and you are a good friend, and I knew you’d be distracted by feeling guilty for saying no.”

 

Grantaire lowers his head because Enjolras is right. He wonders how Enjolras knows so much about him when most of their time together has been spent arguing or openly mocking one another. When was the first time he looked at Grantaire and saw that there was more than he allowed to show on the surface?

 

Enjolras’ hands slip back under his shirt, tickling Grantaire when they smooth over his sides. “When I told you I wanted to take my time with you, I meant it. I want all of your attention on me, and if I have to wait for that, I will. I don’t want to rush things, I want to do it right.”

 

“Why?” Grantaire croaks, leaning into Enjolras because the words being whispered to him in this dim hallway are making his knees weak.

 

“Because I think we could be good for each other. But I know us, and if we rush into this I worry we’ll burn bright and quick. If we take our time and build something substantial, it could last a long time, don’t you think?”

 

Grantaire nods, a little overcome by how seriously Enjolras is taking this. How he’s treating being with him as something that might span the years. Lifetimes.

 

“Besides, we’ve waited long enough and I know I won’t be satisfied with only one round.” Enjolras laughs against Grantaire’s temple, pressing a soft kiss to his hair.

 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Grantaire realizes, clinging to Enjolras.

 

“Yes, but it will only be a little death.”

 

Grantaire stares up at him, shocked. “You’re joking. About sex. With me.”

 

“Yes,” Enjolras nods.

 

Grantaire squints. “Who are you?”

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Come on, show me the posters so we don’t have to lie to anyone.”

 

“Wait, you’ve, um. You’ve thought about this, haven’t you? I mean, really thought about this. About what you want with me. About the different outcomes. What happens if this doesn’t work.”

 

Enjolras gives him a confused, but fond smile. “When have you known me to not think something through?”

 

“But if this doesn’t work, I can’t come back, you get that, right? To the Musain, to the group. I can’t be your friend. I just, it can’t be like that for me. Not with you.” Grantaire’s voice is low, the words spoken to Enjolras’ chest because he can’t bear to say them to his face, to admit how much of his world is influenced by the man in front of him. How much it would devastate Grantaire to lose him.

 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says gently, cupping his face and forcing him to look up. “I know. I promise, I do. And I wouldn’t take this chance with you if I didn’t think it could work. You need to trust me.”

 

“Right, yeah, I do, I just…”

 

“I know,” Enjolras repeats, his face as serious as Grantaire’s ever seen it. It’s reassuring and comforting in a weird, Enjolras-only way. 

 

Grantaire kisses him one last time, letting his tongue slide against Enjolras’ bottom lip before pulling back and going inside to where Gavroche has gathered most of the contents of the fridge and is eating his way through them.

 

Enjolras goes over the posters Grantaire has made up, offering his honest opinion and pointing out a grammatical error, and if Grantaire had thought that their being together would change the way they argue, he was wrong because before Enjolras leaves they have a boisterous disagreement about the need for the oxford comma on protest signs.

 

Enjolras doesn’t kiss him goodbye, but Gavroche still laughs once the door is closed. He waves off Grantaire’s glare and just shakes his head.

 

“You two are at least better at hiding it than Ep and Combeferre. She thinks I don’t notice when he sneaks out at the crack of dawn.”

 

“If you know, why am I watching you? They could have just gone back to your place.” Grantaire steals a box of leftover chowmein from the table and grabs a fork from the kitchen.

 

“It’s their anniversary. Combeferre got a hotel room and everything.”

 

“Jesus,” Grantaire chokes out. “How long has it been?”

 

“Nine months,” Gavroche says, disgusted in the way only teenagers can manage.

 

Grantaire frowns at his food. “They’ve been together nine months and they’re  _ still _ not telling people?”

 

Gavroche shrugs. “They’re weird.”

 

“Huh.” Grantaire shoves noodles in his mouth and wonders what that must be like. To share so much of your life with someone and feel like you have to hide it. He wonders why his friends continue to keep such a big secret when they must know their friends would support them. 

 

His mind wanders to Enjolras and their own lack of an announcement. He tries not to worry that they haven’t even spoken about telling the others, and reminds himself that this is all very new. Maybe it won’t work out and then they’d have to face everyone’s disappointment. Or maybe Enjolras is worried people might try to talk them out of it, for the sake of the group. Grantaire isn’t the easiest person to be with, he knows that. He’s stubborn and flippant, and there’s nothing he likes more than getting under people’s skin. And Enjolras, well, strip away the golden hair and dazzling good looks, and what’s left? A man with upstanding morals who fights for those who can’t fight for themselves and isn’t above getting his hands dirty to do the right thing. 

 

Grantaire grins into his chowmein because he can’t even pretend he’s not ass over teakettle about the bastard. It’s not exactly a surprise, seeing as Grantaire has been hooked since the first night Enjolras refused to let him sit in the corner and mumble dissent and instead insisted he support his arguments and speak clearly when he insulted him. Jehan had grinned at him after that first meeting, smug and preening because he’d told Grantaire there would be no going back, and he’d been right.

 

But wanting others to know how he feels is new, especially when he knows Enjolras feels the same. Now he wants to shout it from the rooftops, to scream it until his throat gives out. It’s not in his head, and it’s no longer a hopeless dream because Enjolras kisses him, and touches him, and has  _ plans for them _ , and it’s all more than Grantaire ever thought he’d get. So he tries really hard not to think about how it’s all more than he could ever bear to lose.

 

He lets Gavroche stay up way too late, then kicks him out early so he can stop and change at home before school. Gavroche curses him, grumbling and hissing in the cheerful morning sun as he stumbles down the walk. Grantaire waves until Gavroche turns the corner, then he crawls back into bed and sleeps until noon.

 

He’s just getting out of the shower when he gets Enjolras’ text, asking him to come over when he can. Grantaire jumps back under the water, giving himself a more thorough scrubbing and then tugs on his only clean pair of jeans and a sweater and stumbles out the door. Enjolras lives in a converted townhouse, between a friendly, 60-something year old wiccan on the first floor and a sniping curmudgeon of indeterminate age on the third. He silently hopes that whatever they’re about to do makes both of them lodge a noise complaint.

 

He tries not to visibly wilt when he knocks on Enjolras’ door and Courfeyrac opens it and beckons him in. Enjolras is kneeling beside his coffee table, leaning over a map of the protest route with Combeferre and Joly. Almost the whole group is there and Grantaire has never been so unhappy to see them. Enjolras smiles up at him when Joly calls out a greeting, but he doesn’t get up. Doesn’t come over to kiss him hello or tell him he’s happy to see him, so Grantaire goes to sit with Eponine in the corner where she’s making buttons to hand out at the rally.

 

“Did Gavroche go to school?” she asks without looking up.

 

“He left this morning.”

 

Eponine glares at him. “But did he go to school?”

 

Grantaire shrugs and smiles. “Who’s to say? You asked me to shelter the boy, I did that.”

 

“You’re a terrible male role model,” she says, going back to the buttons.

 

“Probably. You know who isn’t? Combeferre. Maybe he and Gav should spend a little more time together.”

 

Eponine ignores him, but her shoulders hunch and her face goes red.

 

“Did you have a good night? Make any sweeping declarations? Did anyone get down on their knees?” he teases.

 

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

 

“On second thought, secrets are good.” He pauses, not wanting to upset her, but needing Eponine to know that he supports her. “You don’t have to, though. You know that, right?”

 

“Don’t have to what?”

 

“Keep it a secret. Not from me, at least.” He looks pointedly at Combeferre, then back at her.

 

“I know,” she says, annoyed.

 

Grantaire holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure.” He’s itching to ask about it, but he knows better than to push her.

 

He settles into Enjolras’ couch, watching the others work. This is how these things usually go, the group buzzing around like diligent little worker bees while Grantaire sits on the outskirts of the activity. His work is done and sent to Bossuet, who will have the signs and fliers Grantaire designed printed off at work and delivered in the morning. He notes absently that Marius and Cosette aren’t in attendance and remembers he has actual responsibilities this time around.

 

“Courf, did Marius speak with you?” he asks, sitting up.

 

Courfeyrac nods, shoving a stick of gum into his mouth before answering. “He called me this morning. Are you sure?”

 

“Sure about what?” Enjolras asks, looking from one of them to the other, and his frown is so adorable Grantaire wants to kiss him.

 

“Grantaire is going to babysit you tomorrow.” Courfeyrac explains.

 

“Why? You never get involved, and I don’t mean that harshly,” he says quickly, before Grantaire can argue. “You play an important role and you’re needed there. You’ve never wanted to be in the streets to march with us before.”

 

Grantaire stares at him and wonders if anyone else notices the heat between them. If he’s as obviously in love as he feels. “Maybe I found something worth fighting for.”

 

Eponine snorts quietly, but Enjolras flushes and looks away and Grantaire’s heart soars.

 

“We should go over a few things,” Courfeyrac says, oblivious. 

 

“Why don’t I go pick up some lunch for everyone and you can tell me all about it?” Grantaire asks, feeling the sudden need to be of use.

 

“I’ll come with you,” Enjolras says, climbing to his feet with a wince. “If I sit here any longer my legs are going to be permanently damaged.”

 

“Let’s go then, because I will walk behind you tomorrow, but I’ll be damned if I’m carrying your lazy ass.” Grantaire grins when Enjolras rolls his eyes but there’s a fond smile tugging at his lips and Grantaire knows he put it there.

 

They make it three blocks before Enjolras pulls him into an alleyway and kisses him soundly, pressing Grantaire up against the smooth stone of a tailor’s shop. 

 

“Finally,” he breathes, trailing his mouth down to Grantaire’s neck and finding the mark he left on him two nights before.

 

“You could have told me everyone else was going to be there. I had expectations,” Grantaire pants, his fingers digging into Enjolras’ shoulders through his hoodie.

 

Enjolras makes an inquisitive noise in the back of his throat and Grantaire’s cock twitches.

 

“I thought we were finally going to be alone. That you’d do as you promised and take your time with me.”

 

Enjolras groans and presses his forehead to Grantaire’s shoulder. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think, well, I did, but not about that.”

 

“It’s fine,” Grantaire laughs, running his hand through Enjolras’ hair because he likes the way Enjolras looks when he’s mussed up. Likes it even better when it’s because of Grantaire. “I’ll live. With the rally tomorrow it’s probably best if we wait. I’d like to be able to walk straight.”

 

Enjolras chokes out a laugh and wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck, bringing their bodies close, and  _ hello _ , that’s his erection against Grantaire’s hip.

 

“You’re probably right. I may not be able to let you out of bed for a day or so and Courf will kill me if I miss the rally.”

 

“We could still have a preview,” Grantaire whispers into Enjolras’ ear, rubbing their bodies together until he lets out a broken moan. “There’s no one around and the ground isn’t too dirty. I could get on my knees for you right here. Take the edge off.”

 

Enjolras’ breath catches and then he’s carefully pulling away. “I don’t want to take the edge off. And I don’t want to get arrested for indecent exposure, or worse. But you should stay over tonight.”

 

Grantaire raises his eyebrows. “I thought we just agreed we wanted to be rested for tomorrow.”

 

“We’re rational adults, I’m sure we can control ourselves. I want to spend time with you, R. This isn’t just about sex.”

 

Grantaire bites his lip and looks away from the soft look Enjolras is giving him. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

 

“That I want to spend time with you?”

 

“No, that I’m a rational adult.”

 

Enjolras laughs and draws his thumb across Grantaire’s cheek. “Come on, we better get the food and get back before they send out a search party.”

 

Grantaire wants to take his hand, to curl his fingers around Enjolras’ and let their palms grow warm and soft between them. But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to do that yet so he shoves his hands in his pockets and follows Enjolras out of the alley and toward the cafe.

 

For the rest of the afternoon, Enjolras is all business, explaining to Grantaire the hand signals he and Marius have come up with for when it’s too loud or they’re too far apart to speak. When Marius finally arrives he quizzes Grantaire on them and Enjolras looks almost proud when he passes with flying colours. Then it’s back to work, rounding out the rougher edges of the plans to ensure everything runs smoothly. 

 

Cosette tells them what her father has said to expect from Javert and the gendarmes, and they all pause to watch when Marius tries to tell her she shouldn’t attend the rally for her own safety. Eponine gives him a look over Cosette’s shoulder as if to say,  _ see, this is why we keep it a secret. _ Grantaire knows she’s right, that as soon as the group knows he and Enjolras are together they’ll all be involved. It’s what keeps him on the phone late into the night when Joly has an argument with Musichetta or Bossuet and needs someone to vent to. It’s why Marius dragged Eponine along to help him pick out a ring for Cosette. They’re all in each other’s pockets, and that hasn’t always sat right with Grantaire, but he’s still thankful for it.

 

These are his people. His community, and they’ve seen him through some very dark times. They deserve to share in his highs because they stood by him in his lows. He wants them to smile slyly and say, ‘I told you so’ to each other when they find out. Grantaire feels like he finally has something he could be proud of and he wants to show it off. But Enjolras hasn’t said anything yet and Grantaire can’t help the pain in his gut when he thinks he may not want to.

 

The day passes quickly, final details and finishing touches settled, their escape routes and meeting points mapped out in case something goes wrong. Marius and Combeferre take Grantaire aside after dinner and tell him that if things do go sideways, Enjolras will want to stay behind and help, but he absolutely must not be allowed to. 

 

“That’s what the rest of us are for,” Combeferre explains.

 

“And Javert is gunning for Enjolras and if he gets arrested, they will make something stick,” Marius continues, looking worried.

 

Combeferre nods. “If you need to physically remove him from the crowd, do it. Take him to your place and lay low until one of us comes for you. I’m serious, R, you can’t let him leave.” 

 

“I won’t, I swear. If anyone can keep Enjolras in one place, it’s me. I’ll tell him unions lead to higher prices for consumers and serve only to protect lazy workers and he’ll have no choice but to stay and argue.” Grantaire grins.

 

“Jesus, R, you need to keep him there, not give him an aneurysm,” Combeferre mutters.

 

“Relax, it’s going to be fine. I am a rational adult after all.”

 

“Who told you that?” Marius asks with a laugh.

 

“The smartest man I know,” Grantaire winks and walks away. He’ll keep Enjolras in his apartment if he has to sit in his lap to do it.

 

*******

 

Grantaire comes out of the bathroom around ten to find the others gone. Enjolras is in the kitchen, sorting out the recycling from the garbage left behind, and Grantaire slips up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

 

“Where’d everyone go?” he asks, face smushed against the cotton of Enjolras’ shirt.

 

“I sent them home to rest for tomorrow. Besides, if Gavroche had made one more underhand remark about the noises Combeferre makes in bed, I think Eponine would have thrown him off the balcony.” Enjolras shoves some paper to the bottom of a blue bin and moves to the sink, taking Grantaire with him.

 

“I doubt she’d let him off that easily,” Grantaire remarks, snuggling closer.

 

“Why do they keep it a secret?” Enjolras asks and Grantaire freezes. “I mean, has she said anything to you about it? Because Combeferre pretends he doesn’t hear me when I ask.”

 

“Not directly,” Grantaire says carefully. “Not that I would tell you if she asked me not to.”

 

Enjolras turns and drapes his arms over Grantaire’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But it’s weird, right? Do they think we wouldn’t approve? Because I’m pretty sure everyone knows and no one seems to have a problem with it.”

 

“I don’t think they care what we think. I think it’s more that none of our friends really know how to respect boundaries. Eponine is a very private person, and so is Combeferre.”

 

“But I’m his best friend, we tell each other everything. Why won’t he tell me this?”

 

“Did you tell him about us?” Grantaire asks quietly, staring at the design on Enjolras’ shirt.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes?” Grantaire’s head whips up to see a smile curving over Enjolras’ lips.

 

“Of course I did. I’m surprised he’s the only one I’ve told. Why, who have you told?”

 

“Ah,” Grantaire licks his lips. “No one. I mean, Gavroche knows, but he knows everything about everyone.”

 

Enjolras frowns, his shoulders going tense. “Why haven’t you told anyone?” His voice is low and it wavers just a bit at the end of the question.

 

“Because we haven’t talked about that yet,” Grantaire tells him truthfully. “I didn’t know if we were telling people and I didn’t want to upset you if we weren’t.”

 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Enjolras pouts.

 

“Because our friends are pushy and overbearing, we’ve just established that.”

 

“But you want to tell people, right? That we’re together. You and me.” 

 

Grantaire grins, going up onto his toes to kiss the side of Enjolras’ mouth. “I want to tell the world.”

 

Enjolras’ cheeks go pink and he pulls Grantaire closer, just holding him until Grantaire feels warm, and wanted, and content.

 

“It might be a good idea to wait until after the rally,” Enjolras says, his voice heavy with regret.

 

“I agree. But after that I’m taking out an ad in the paper,” Grantaire teases.

 

Enjolras laughs and looks down with warmth in his eyes. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

Grantaire lets out a shaky sigh. “You’re sure about this?”

 

“Grantaire, we are grown men, we can handle one night in the same bed without having sex.”

 

“Yes, absolutely,” Grantaire nods sternly, letting himself be led down the hall. “What exactly constitutes sex in this instance?”

 

“Anything besides kissing,” Enjolras tells him. “Now, take off your clothes.”

 

Grantaire eyes the bed with its soft-looking maroon comforter and just knows the sheets underneath are crisp and clean, freshly laundered and begging to be ruined. It’s just a bed, he tells himself, taking a deep breath. Enjolras’ bed, sure, but still just a bed. He can do this. The thing is, he doesn’t want to. He wants to crawl under those covers and let Enjolras take him apart. He wants to touch and be touched in return. To explore every inch of Enjolras’ body and see just how far he can be pushed before he breaks and begs for mercy. He  _ wants _ .

 

“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asks and Grantaire startles badly when he realizes Enjolras is standing there in his underwear, all that glorious skin on display.

 

Grantaire has to swallow twice before he can speak. “I think I should sleep on the couch.”

 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Enjolras huffs and tries to pull Grantaire’s shirt off over his head.

 

“Don’t!” Grantaire warns, panting. “Sorry, just, I’m really turned on and if you touch me I’m probably going to come in my pants.”

 

“Seriously?” Enjolras asks, looking smug.

 

“It’s not funny.”

 

Enjolras holds his hands up and takes a step back. “I’m not laughing, I swear. Do you maybe want to go take care of things in the bathroom and then come to bed?”

 

Grantaire frowns. “Are you going to stay in here and do it?”

 

“No,” he grins. “I’m saving it all for you.”

 

“Ugh, I hate you.” Grantaire sits on the end of the bed and drops his head into his hands.

 

Enjolras sits down, carefully leaving a few inches of space in between them.“R, I don’t mean for this to be torture for you. I really don’t. Look, why don’t we get each other off and go to sleep, okay? It’ll be fine.”

 

Grantaire turns to look at him. “But that’s not what you want. You want it to be romantic, and sweet, and long. If we do that, it won’t be any of those things. It will be frantic and quick, trust me.”

 

“But it’s not just about what I want,” Enjolras insists. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m holding sex hostage.”

 

Grantaire sits up with a groan, leaning back on his hands. “I don’t, I promise. It’s just. I’ve wanted you for a really long time, okay? And to know that you want me like that, too, is a little overwhelming. Amazing, but mind boggling for me. Sometimes I think it’s all in my head, and then you look at me and smile, or graze your hand across my back in a room full of people and it hits me that this is real. And in my mind I want it to be everything we’ve built up and waited for, I really do. But my dick just wants you.”

 

Enjolras laugh quietly, his eyes sparkling. “My dick wants you, too. It’s just better behaved than yours is.”

 

“Clearly,” Grantaire grumbles, looking down at the bulge in his jeans.

 

“I have an idea,” Enjolras says, getting up and going to the closet to pull out a handmade quilt. “My grandmère made this.”

 

“I’m sure I’ll be perfectly comfortable on the couch, I’ve slept there before.” Grantaire reaches for the quilt, but Enjolras pulls it away.

 

“You’re not sleeping on the damn couch, R. But if you’re not comfortable sleeping under the covers with me, you can sleep on top of them and use this. That way there’s a layer between us and your dick can’t do anything you think you’ll regret.”

 

“I think you’re a genius but my dick kind of hates you right now.”

 

“That’s the spirit!” Enjolras says, spreading the quilt over one side of the bed.

 

Grantaire pulls his shirt off, blushing when Enjolras stops to stare.

 

“Keep going.”

 

He swivels his hips as he unbuttons his jeans and lowers the zipper and is rewarded with another laugh from Enjolras. Something warm and proud curls in his chest at the sound. Enjolras doesn’t laugh much around the others and Grantaire likes that being with him makes Enjolras feel like he can let go like that.

 

“There’s no sexy way to take off socks,” Grantaire complains once he’s kicked his pants aside.

 

“Says you,” Enjolras smirks and steps forward, dropping to his knees on the carpet. Grantaire’s breath catches when Enjolras’ soft hands curve over his calves, smoothing their way down and taking Grantaire’s socks with them. He pulls them off one by one, caressing Grantaire’s ankles and trailing his fingers over the tops of his feet. Enjolras is eye level with his erection, and so close that Grantaire has to close his eyes and take a few steadying breaths.

 

“I’ll never doubt you again,” Grantaire promises once Enjolras is standing in front of him again. “I’ll also never take my socks off without getting an erection again, so thanks for that.”

 

“Come to bed,” Enjolras says, kissing Grantaire’s cheek.

 

He lets Enjolras lead him to the bed and tuck him under the quilt, smiling when Enjolras kisses him softly on the forehead. When Enjolras crawls under the covers Grantaire rolls onto his side and lays his arm between them, palm up and open. 

 

Enjolras takes the invitation and slots their fingers together with a shy smile. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers.

 

“Me too.”

 

“Are you tired, or can we talk for a bit?”

 

“We can talk,” Grantaire tells him. “Just maybe not, you know, dirty talk because I don’t want to pay the drycleaning bill to get come out of your grandmère’s quilt.”

 

Enjolras chuckles, shaking his head. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

 

“What do you want to talk about then?”

 

“I just wondered, earlier, when you said,” Enjolras sighs with frustration, his cheeks going delightfully pink. Grantaire squeezes his hand to encourage him. “How long have you wanted me?”

 

“What?” Grantaire asks, surprised.

 

“You said you’ve wanted this for a really long time. How long is that exactly?”

 

“Oh, um,” Grantaire stalls. “That’s a little embarrassing.”

 

“You’re embarrassed that you want me?” Enjolras’ eyebrows go up.

 

“No! No, no, no, no. That’s not at all what I meant. It’s just that I’ve wanted you for so long it’s kind of pathetic because you so clearly didn’t want me back for a long time.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Enjolras argues. “And it’s not pathetic to like someone.”

 

Grantaire scoffs. “Try telling everyone else that.”

 

“They knew?”

 

“I was so obvious I’m surprised you didn’t, but I get it, don’t worry. I wasn’t on your radar then, and that’s fine.”

 

“You’ve always been on my radar,” Enjolras says and Grantaire gapes at him.

 

“Yeah, but not like that. I mean, we’re friends and everything, sort of, but it wasn’t like that. I didn’t want you to know, either. I didn’t want your pity.”

 

“Sort of friends?” Enjolras frowns, clearly upset.

 

“God, nothing is coming out right,” Grantaire groans.

 

“You’re one of my best friends.”

 

“I am?” Grantaire asks, feeling stupid.

 

“Of course you are. How could we debate like we do and walk away with no hard feelings if we weren’t good friends? If you didn’t think I was your friend why did you spend so much time making sure I knew the other side of every argument? You’ve taught me so much I didn’t even know I was missing, why would you do that if you didn’t care?” Enjolras sounds hurt and it takes all Grantaire’s willpower not to gather him in his arms and comfort him.

 

“I did care, I do. I just didn’t think you saw it like that. I thought you kind of maybe hated me for it. Because I was so obviously in love with you and you are so clearly out of my league.”

 

“And everyone just let you think that?” Enjolras asks and now he just looks angry so Grantaire pulls their hands closer, curling them against his chest.

 

“They were worried I’d get hurt. They knew how gone on you I was, and they thought I should let it go. It wasn’t that they thought you couldn’t feel the same way, just that you didn’t,” Grantaire tries to explain.

 

“They were wrong,” Enjolras snaps. “I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this.”

 

Grantaire shrugs and smiles weakly. “You’ve been busy.”

 

Enjolras’ fingers squeeze tighter and he leans closer. “I will never be too busy for you, I promise. You just may need to remind me that I made that promise now and then.”

 

Grantaire laughs. “It’s fine, I know you, remember. Besides, I think it’s hot when you get all riled up about things.”

 

“Are you saying you’ve spent the last three years of meetings fighting an erection?” Enjolras teases, lightening the mood a little.

 

“Why do you think I drink so much at meetings?”

 

“There’s a solution for that, you know. I get you off before we head to the Musain and you return the favour afterwards.”

 

Grantaire grins, kissing Enjolras’ knuckles. “You really are the smartest man alive.”

 

Enjolras smiles, but it fades quickly. “So from the beginning then?”

 

Grantaire sighs. “Pretty much. I mean, I don’t have an exact date, but yeah.”

 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come around,” Enjolras tells him, squirming until he’s covered the few inches between them and Grantaire can feel the heat of his body, even through the blankets.

 

“Nah, your timing is perfect. I wasn’t ready for you then, I just wanted you.”

 

“And now?”

 

“Now I want to keep you,” Grantaire whispers, nudging Enjolras’ nose with his own.

 

“Good. Sleep?” Enjolras smiles.

 

“Sleep,” he agrees, kissing Enjolras chastely and closing his eyes.

 

*********

There was a flaw in this sleepover plan, and it’s entirely Enjolras’ fault, Grantaire decides when he wakes up with morning breath and a raging erection. He has no clean clothes, no toothbrush, and nowhere to hide.

 

“Good morning to you, too,” Enjolras says sleepily when Grantaire swears under his breath.

 

“Stop doing that,” Grantaire snaps, grinding his teeth together.

 

“Doing what, this?” Enjolras wiggles his hips again, rubbing his ass over Grantaire’s groin. There’s a sheet and two quilts between them, but there’s enough friction to make Grantaire think of awkward fumbling and the kind of dry humping that should have lost it’s appeal when he started having actual sex.

 

“I should go,” Grantaire mutters, throwing the quilt off and scrambling to his feet, covering his erection with his hands.

 

“Oh, come on, don’t leave. I thought we could go for breakfast. Our first date.”

 

“I have to go home to shower and change before the rally,” Grantaire tells him, looking away from the bed because Enjolras looks soft and welcoming and he’s very close to crawling all over him.

 

“Shower here and borrow something of mine.”

 

Grantaire scoffs. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little deviant.”

 

“I would,” Enjolras nods. “The thought of you in my clothes is shockingly hot. Can I pick them out?”

 

“I’m locking the bathroom door,” Grantaire says and walks away, trying not to let his joy ruin his dramatic exit.

 

When he gets out of the shower Enjolras is sitting in bed, scrolling through something on his phone. There are clothes laid out beside him and Grantaire sighs at them before pulling them on. He can tell that Enjolras is trying not to let on that he’s watching, but he’s really very bad at deception.

 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

 

Enjolras smiles, flushing. “Rather a lot.”

 

Grantaire laughs and pulls the t-shirt on. The pants are a little long and a bit tight, but he’s worn worse. The shirt is long-sleeved and red, and smells like Enjolras. 

 

“I guess it doesn’t suck,” he admits.

 

“Doesn’t suck like you would let me pick clothes out for you again?” Enjolras asks hopefully.

 

“That depends. Is this a ‘I like seeing you in my clothes’ thing, or a ‘I hate your clothes so please wear these instead’ thing?”

 

“Definitely the first one. Although, I wouldn’t complain if you wore tighter pants. But that’s for my own amusement.” Enjolras shrugs.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go shopping,” Grantaire promises.

 

“Or just take me with you. Some of those changing rooms are pretty big, aren’t they?” Enjolras asks innocently.

 

“Get in the shower before we don’t make it to the damn rally.” 

 

Enjolras laughs, but gets out of bed and wanders out. Grantaire watches him go, then shakes his head and starts making the bed. It’s not as tidy as the night before, but he’s confident he’ll get points for effort.

 

Forty minutes later they’re seated in a small cafe close to the rally point, sitting side by side and sharing a pot of coffee and a plate of tartine. Slowly, the others trickle in, drawn by Grantaire’s texts and the promise of sustenance. When Bahorel arrives he sweet talks the server into letting him add milk and sugar to a carafe and drinks directly from it while he perches on a chair turned backwards. Combeferre goes over the day’s event one last time, making sure everyone knows where they’re supposed to be and that Enjolras has his speech ready to go. 

 

Grantaire shifts his hand where it’s resting under Enjolras’ thigh, curling his fingers and making Enjolras squirm. Eponine frowns at them across the table, but Grantaire just grins, daring her to say something. They head out soon after, breaking into groups of twos and threes as they make their way to the rally site. It’s early yet, but there’s still a lot to do.

 

Enjolras is pulled ahead by Courfeyrac and Jehan loops his arm through Grantaire’s, telling him about the project he’s just started. Bossuet, Joly, and Musichetta are already there, stapling the posters together and making stacks of fliers for everyone to take and hand out. The stage has been constructed and Jehan leaves him to go talk to the guy setting up the sound system with Feuilly. Grantaire wanders over to Eponine, nudging her shoulder with his own.

 

“Nice pants,” she tells him with a smirk.

 

“Nice hickey,” he returns, laughing when her hand goes to the scarf around her neck. 

 

“Ass.”

 

“Guilty,” he agrees cheerfully.

 

“Here, make yourselves useful,” Joly interrupts them, shoving fliers into their hands. “Head over to the park. There’s some sort of busking festival going on, maybe we can draw in more people.”

 

“Aye, aye, sir,” Grantaire salutes him with the fliers and steals a look at Enjolras before being hauled away by Eponine.

 

“I slept over at Enjolras’ place last night,” Grantaire says as soon as they’re out of view of the stage.

 

Eponine rolls her eyes. “You don’t say.”

 

“We’re together.”

 

“Together how?” Eponine glances at him from the corner of her eye.

 

“Together, together.”

 

“So you’re sleeping with him?”

 

“Yes, well, no. I mean, we slept in the same bed, but we’re not, you know, sleeping together. Not yet, anyway,” Grantaire explains, his face heating up despite his best efforts.

 

“Okay,” she says slowly. “So what does it mean?”

 

“It means we’re together. We’re going to be together. He’s my, my boyfriend.” The word feels weird and inadequate in his mouth, but he doesn’t have a better descriptor for Enjolras at the moment. It seems awfully overdramatic to declare him his soulmate.

 

“Does he know that?” 

 

“What?” Grantaire stops walking, gaping at Eponine. “Of course he does, he started it!”

 

“Really? That’s surprising,” Eponine says, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to get him moving again. “I figured one day you’d just snap and throw yourself at him.”

 

“I do have a little self respect, thank you very much,” Grantaire grumbles.

 

“If you say so.”

 

“And we’re telling people, just not until after the rally. Enjolras wants everyone focused today.”

 

“Learning their fearless leader has a libido will send them all into a tizzy,” Eponine agrees with another smirk.

 

“You don’t seem very surprised.”

 

“Why would I be? I knew Enjolras would eventually come to his senses and see what was so obvious to the rest of us.”

 

“And what’s that?” he prompts.

 

“That you’re a catch and probably the only one who can match him in stubbornness and intelligence. Watching you two together is going to be massively entertaining for the rest of us,” she tells him, laughing when Grantaire frowns.

 

“Is that why you and Combeferre are living a secret second life together?” Grantaire asks, half out of curiosity and half as revenge.

 

Eponine sighs. “No, that’s for more practical reasons.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Such as his parents will continue to pay for his education so long as he doesn’t entertain any distractions,” she says in one quick breath.

 

“L’ABC isn’t a distraction?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

 

“Unacceptable distractions,” she corrects. “Like a girl with no prospects who is raising her teenage brother in a one bedroom illegal suite.”

 

“And Combeferre is happy hiding you away like you’re his dirty little secret?” Grantaire demands, his anger overcoming his better judgement. “How dare they say you have no prospects? They don’t even know you!”

 

“No, they don’t. But I know people like them, and this is easier,” she says, grabbing Grantaire’s wrist to calm him down. “It’s fine, I promise. This is the way we want it. Combeferre graduates in the spring and then we can stop hiding.”

 

Grantaire fumes quietly for a minute, but Eponine just stands there, no trace of bitterness or regret over her situation, and eventually he has to let it go.

 

“He’s good to you? You’re happy?”

 

Eponine smiles in a way Grantaire hasn’t seen in a very long time. “He is. I am.”

 

“Then I’m happy for you,” he tells her. 

 

Eponine nods and walks on, but her cheeks have gone pink and she seems a bit lighter than she was before.

 

*********

They return after an hour of dodging kids and dogs while shoving fliers into the hands of everyone they passed. There’s a large crowd gathering in front of the stage, and Grantaire realizes their estimates were far too conservative. Combeferre steps up to the mic and calls for the crowd’s attention.

 

“I need to find Enjolras,” he says, using Eponine’s shoulder to try and see over the crowd.

 

“If he’s where he’s supposed to be, he’ll already be behind the stage. Go, I need to get into place as well.”

 

“Good luck,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder and heading for the outer edge of the crowd. Combeferre is at the mic, calling for everyone’s attention. Grantaire finds Courfeyrac and Enjolras behind the stage, arguing about whether or not Enjolras should wear his red hoodie.

 

“But it’s cold on stage,” Enjolras protests.

 

“So bask in the warmth of your anger!” Courfeyrac suggests, throwing his arms wide. “But you look like an unruly youth in it and you can’t wear it up there.”

 

“It also makes you a target,” Grantaire says, wincing at Enjolras’ glare. 

 

“R’s right, and if you need to get away quickly, you can put it on and blend in with the crowd.”

 

“You’re both being ridiculous,” Enjolras grumbles, taking the hoodie off with jerky movements and throwing it at Grantaire. 

 

Courfeyrac nods his head in Enjolras’ direction. “And I believe you when you say that because now you don’t look like a degenerate.” 

 

Enjolras opens his mouth to snap back, but he freezes when he catches sight of Grantaire pulling the hoodie on, zipping it halfway to his chin and shoving his hands in the pockets. Grantaire smiles innocently, loving the way Enjolras’ eyes dilate as he takes a step towards him. He curls his hands around the back of Grantaire’s neck and pulls him in, kissing him soundly, if not a little filthy. Grantaire hears Courfeyrac choke on his surprise, then Combeferre is introducing Enjolras and he’s left standing alone, flushed and tingling from the kiss while Enjolras bounds up the steps to the stage and takes over.

 

“What the fuck was that?” Courfeyrac demands, his eyes wide.

 

Grantaire hums like he didn’t hear what Courfeyrac said and then points to the stage. “Sorry, can’t hear you over Apollo’s call for social justice.”

 

He can tell Courfeyrac wants to prod him for more information, but Combeferre comes down the steps and pulls them off to the side to watch the speech. Two minutes in and Grantaire is captivated. Enjolras is like an avenging angel on the stage, laying out problems within the system that claims to care for and protect them, and calling out to the people to come together to demand reform. To stand strong against those who would keep them down, those who would deny citizens their rights simply because they could.

 

The crowd is nodding along, throwing out cries for justice and change that punctuate Enjolras’ speech like they were scripted. There a tenacious energy in the air and Grantaire can’t help himself from being pulled in. He believes the words that Enjolras is saying in a way he never has before. He believes  _ in _ them. Logically, he still knows there are roadblocks in their way, and that one small movement will rarely stall the working of a government, but watching Enjolras on that stage, in his element, speaking to the people, Grantaire wants him to be right. Wants to stand beside him and help make those changes. 

 

On a Thursday in mid-March, Grantaire falls in love all over again.

 

**********

 

The rest of the rally goes well, the crowd is lively and peaceful, but the march is marred by a young woman behind them tripping on the cobblestones and splitting her chin open. A man who is clearly a gendarme in plain clothes shoves his way towards her, pulling Enjolras roughly away by the arm when he stops to calm her. Grantaire slots himself between them, breaking the contact and loudly thanking the officer for coming out to support them, even if he’s not in uniform. The man backs off and Joly appears to tend to the woman. They march on, leading the people across the Pont de Concorde and up to the steps of the Palais Bourbon, where the Assemblé Nationale meets.

 

Javert is waiting for them, casting a suspicious eye over the large crowd. Enjolras leads them in a chant, their voices growing into a crashing wave as it echoes off the portico of the Palais. Javert and his men are starting to look twitchy and intent so Grantaire curls his fingers around Enjolras’ wrist, just in case they need to run. Someone brings Javert a bullhorn and he calls for them to disperse, but the chanting just gets louder. 

 

The second warning comes with the threat of arrest, but no one moves, they’re here to have a voice and they refuse to be ignored. Grantaire knows they haven’t broken any laws, but Javert doesn’t seem to agree. His eyes lock on Enjolras and he starts forward just as Valjean comes clamouring down the stairs, calling for them to desist.

 

“Stand down, Javert! I carry a summons from Président Lismanque. He has granted Les Amis de l’ABC an audience to discuss their agenda.” Valjean is panting, but the look on his face is pure confidence and he looks at Javert like he’s daring the man to strike first.

 

“You have proof of this, I suppose?” Javert sneers, holding his men in place with his baton.

 

“Of course,” Valjean hands over the summons without fanfare. “Careful of the ink, it’s still wet.”

 

Javert’s left eye twitches as he examines the paperwork. When he’s done he throws it back at Valjean, who folds it carefully and slips it into the pocket of his jacket.

 

“The summons is for the leaders of the ABC, not all these hooligans. They will disperse immediately or they will be charged with disturbing the peace.”

 

Enjolras opens his mouth to argue, but a sharp look from Valjean has Grantaire squeezing Enjolras’ wrist to silence him.

 

“They are exercising their right to peaceful protest, and I’m sure now that they have the ear of the Président, they will leave further discussion in the hands of their leaders and return to their lives.” Valjean descends to where Grantaire, Enjolras, and Combeferre are standing, ducking his head and speaking in a low voice. “If you can’t get these people out of here, Javert will find reason to start arresting them. This is an olive branch from the Assembly. I suggest you take it if your goal is to foster a connection with them.”

 

Combeferre and Enjolras conduct a silent conversation through facial expressions before agreeing and calling Courfeyrac to come forward. When they move to follow Valjean up the stairs, Javert’s baton catches Grantaire in the side, forcing him back.

 

“The summons called for the leaders of l’ABC. Your name was not listed.” Javert grins cruelly.

 

Enjolras shoves the baton aside and steps close to Grantaire, regret evident in his eyes. “Go with the others and keep yourself safe,” he whispers. “We’ll send word soon.”

 

“I swore to keep you safe,” Grantaire argues, hating the thought of being separated from Enjolras yet again. This was supposed to be the end of that. They’re supposed to be together now.

 

Enjolras smiles softly. “And you have. Go, I’ll come to you as soon as I’m able.”

 

There’s excitement lurking in Enjolras’ gaze and Grantaire can’t keep him from this victory when he knows how long it’s taken to achieve it, so he nods reluctantly and steps back, letting Valjean hurry the others through the doors of the Palais. Bahorel appears beside him and plucks the bullhorn out of the hands of a distracted gendarme.

 

“Oi, mes amis! We have gained an audience with l’Assemblé Nationale, we have done what we set out to do, and we have won the day!” The crowd erupts in cheers and Bahorel winks at Grantaire, a wide grin on his face. “Go forth and spread the word, my friends. Keep your hearts and arms open to your neighbours, and don’t let the man get you down!”

 

Grantaire keeps an eye on Javert and his men as the crowd breaks up and wanders off. The gendarmes look bored, but Javert is obviously seething as he stalks up the Palais stairs. Bahorel claps Grantaire on the shoulder and Feuilly appears at his elbow, bouncing on his toes.

 

“We’re heading back to the Musain to celebrate our success!” Feuilly says, kissing Grantaire on the cheek.

 

“Not getting our heads bashed in by the gendarmes is a success now?” Grantaire gumbles, hating the empty feeling in his chest. 

 

“You’re new to this part of the resistance,” Bahorel tells him. “It’s different here in the streets. Today is a good day, R. Let’s toast to it.”

 

Grantaire shakes his head, his eyes going to the Palais doors. “I’ll wait until they come back with their report. Then we’ll toast to their safe return.”

 

Feuilly goes to find the others, but Bahorel eyes Grantaire with a frown. “It’s not usually difficult to talk you into having a drink.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’ve been feeling decidedly unusual lately,” Grantaire responds and walks away.

 

He doesn’t go to the Musain, he makes his way home instead, stopping to buy a dosa from a food truck in the square on the way. He eats as he walks, the sharp spices warming his tongue and settling his nerves so that by the time he reaches his flat, he’s calmed down enough to simply be sad that Enjolras left him, not completely depressed.

 

His rooms are cluttered and dull, paint and brushes strewn on nearly every surface, half finished canvases mocking him from their stands. He could work, but he doesn’t want to get paint on Enjolras’ clothes and he’s not willing to take them off yet. He thinks he might just keep them on until Enjolras himself peels them away. Of course, the way they’re going, the clothes will have become one with his skin by then. It’s not that he’s impatient for sex, though he is admittedly a little frustrated, it’s that he wants to just  _ be _ with Enjolras. He’s waited years to get here and now that it’s within reach he wants it ten times more. 

 

He doesn’t have to pretend he’s allowed to touch Enjolras, run a hand through his bright curls or drop a kiss to his lips, now he’s been granted permission, encouraged even. And yet. There’s still the voice inside his head that whispers his doubts. That tells him Enjolras will change his mind. That he’ll come to his senses and see that Grantaire isn’t worth the effort. That it will all come crashing down around his head before he gets the chance to tell Enjolras how deeply he feels for him.

 

Grantaire pulls at his hair, hating that he’s letting himself question how Enjolras feels when he heard the words spoken directly from the man’s lips. Enjolras told him he was good and noble, that Grantaire was one of his best friends. He touches the fading bruise on his neck, pushing until an ache blooms under his skin and it’s almost like Enjolras is there, his lips and teeth marking Grantaire as his.  It gives him the strength to press on, to roll up his sleeves and tidy his flat to work off the nervous energy that’s built up inside him, spurred on by his self-doubt.

 

_ I want to take my time with you. _

 

Grantaire shudders, stacking papers on his desk and dropping dirty dishes into the sink to be washed. He can wait. For Enjolras, he can wait forever.

 

He’s returning from the laundry room with his bedding when someone falls through his front window, grunting at the impact and getting tangled in the drapes. It’s half past ten and Eponine is probably worried sick. He’s surprised she hasn’t called him yet.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Grantaire demands, dropping his sheets on the couch and going to free the intruder from his poly-cotton enemy. “You can’t just break into my flat whenever you feel like it. I should have you arrested.”

 

“I thought it was your job to keep that from happening,” says a voice that very definitely does not belong to Gavroche.

 

“You’re not Gavroche,” Grantaire points out, stunned.

 

“Excellent deduction, now, will you help me with this please?” Enjolras tugs at the drapes, tearing two of the rungs through the cheap fabric. “Oops.”

 

“Nevermind those,” Grantaire says, shoving the drapes aside so Enjolras can stand up. “What the hell are you doing here? And why did you come in through the window?”

 

“You didn’t answer the door,” Enjolras says, his face flushing. “I went to the Musain, but Jehan said you hadn’t shown up. So I went to my apartment, but you weren’t there, either.”

 

“Always in the last place you look,” Grantaire offers, giddiness building inside him. Enjolras  _ searched _ for him. 

 

Enjolras frowns. “Don’t be cute, why didn’t you answer the door?” 

 

“I was getting the laundry,” Grantaire jabs his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the couch. “Why didn’t you text me? Or call?”

 

“I did, you didn’t answer the texts and your phone went straight to voicemail. I was worried something happened. Maybe Javert and his goons had gotten ahold of you.”

 

Grantaire starts to laugh, turning it into a weak cough when he see there is real worry in Enjolras’ eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice my phone was dead. I forgot to plug it in when I got home.”

 

“Why didn’t you go to the Musain? That was the meeting point.”

 

Grantaire shrugs, embarrassed that he didn’t want to be there without Enjolras. “Being around all those people today, it was kind of exhausting. I needed some quiet.”

 

Enjolras sighs, pulling Grantaire into a hug. “We didn’t plan this very well, did we?”

 

“What more could we have done? The rally went off without a hitch.”

 

“Not that,  _ this _ .  _ Us _ .” Enjolras says.

 

“Oh,” Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras’ waist, the unease he’d felt earlier melting away. “We’re here now.”

 

“Yes,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire can hear the smile in his voice. “Here, alone, finally.”

 

“Sounds too good to be true,” Grantaire mumbles, pressing kisses to Enjolras’ shoulder through his shirt.

 

“You’re still wearing my clothes,” Enjolras says, his hands stroking down Grantaire’s back.

 

“You’re still wearing clothes,” Grantaire pouts, sliding his hands under Enjolras’ shirt, scratching his nails gently over Enjolras’ sides.

 

Enjolras laughs and pulls back. “Perhaps we should put the sheets on the bed before we get ahead of ourselves.”

 

Grantaire collects the linens, a warm pulse starting in his chest when Enjolras helps spread the fitted sheet over the mattress, tucking the ends into place and smoothing it out. They make the bed, piece by piece, and it feels like an important step. Like they’re starting all over from scratch, on even footing, together.

 

“What now?” Grantaire asks, his eyes fluttering shut when Enjolras bends to nibble at Grantaire’s jawline.

 

“Everything,” he whispers. “Is that okay?”

 

“God, yes,” Grantaire agrees, pushing Enjolras’ shirt up, greedy for more.

 

“Slow down, we have all night.”

 

“Do we?” Grantaire asks, skeptical. 

 

Enjolras chuckles. “I’ll admit our track record kind of sucks, but no one knows where we are. Your phone is dead and mine is on silent. We’ve got time.”

 

“I really, really hope so,” Grantaire groans at Enjolras’ teeth scraping down his neck. 

 

He’s pushed down to the bed, Enjolras kneeling above him and slowly stripping his shirt off Grantaire. Enjolras’ hands are warm as they map out Grantaire’s chest, blunt nails scratching over his nipples. Grantaire bites his lip, arching off the bed when Enjolras’ hands fall to the button of his jeans.

 

“You’re so quiet,” Enjolras says, popping the button open. “What do I have to do to make you scream?”

 

Grantaire shivers, surging up to kiss him, his hands gripping at Enjolras’ shoulders, pulling him down until he’s spread over top of him, his weight pushing Grantaire into the mattress, grounding him.

 

“I’ve wanted this for so long it’s a little hard to believe it’s real,” Grantaire confesses. “Part of me still thinks it’s a fever dream.”

 

Enjolras laughs and kisses him again, slow and deep, his tongue sliding over Grantaire’s teeth and learning his mouth. It’s quiet and warm, the only sounds their panting breaths and the occasional creak of the bed as Enjolras grinds down on him.

 

“I want to taste you,” Enjolras mumbles against his lips, and he sounds so wrecked already that Grantaire can only nod, moaning when Enjolras shimmies down his body, kissing a line down his chest and biting at the skin below his navel.

 

Grantaire’s pants and underwear come off easily, Enjolras pressing his face to the top of Grantaire’s and just breathing him in for a minute. Grantaire runs a hand through golden curls, startled to find that Enjolras is shaking.

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

Enjolras nods against his leg, dragging his lower lip over the wiry hair again and again, not raising his head until his shaking subsides.

 

“Overwhelmed,” he croaks, offering Grantaire a tired smile.

 

“We can stop, we don’t have to do this now.”

 

“Oh, yes we do,” Enjolras ensures him. “I’m not waiting any longer unless I absolutely have to. I didn’t know I could want anyone like this, but having you here, naked under me? I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t know where to begin.”

 

Grantaire’s whole body flushes at Enjolras’ words and his heart sings. “You could start by taking your clothes off. Even us out a little.”

 

Enjolras grins, pushing up to his knees and shucking off his clothes. Grantaire regrets telling him to strip for a minute because he’s so close to coming just from  _ looking _ at Enjolras that he’s afraid a single touch might set him off.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Enjolras tells him, kissing his way back up Grantaire’s body, his nose trailing over Grantaire’s calf and up his inner thigh.

 

His legs fall open, the thought of Enjolras between them enough to make Grantaire spread them wide in invitation. Enjolras grins and blows warm air over Grantaire’s cock, making it jerk, precome dribbling out of the slit to pool on his belly. Enjolras swipes a finger through it, sucking it off obscenely while Grantaire’s brain comes to a screeching halt. The next thing he registers is tight, wet heat around the head of his cock, and dear God, that’s Enjolras’ mouth. He lets out a breathy moan when Enjolras flicks his tongue over the slit, and sinks down further.

 

Grantaire’s hands grip his hair and Enjolras groans around him, bobbing his head slowly, torturously, taking Grantaire deeper each time. What he can’t fit in his mouth, he covers with a fist, working in counterpoint to his mouth and making Grantaire pull sharply at his roots.

 

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” Grantaire pants, letting go, but Enjolras pulls off and grins.

 

“Don’t be, I like it.”

 

Before Grantaire can process his words, he’s back in Enjolras’ mouth, the intense suction making his hips buck. He tentatively threads his fingers back through Enjolras’ hair, tugging when that clever mouth does something he particularly enjoys. He’s heard Enjolras spit venomous words during an argument, and give speeches that could make you weep, he’s listened while Enjolras talked himself out of vandalism charges and into the office of a magistrate, but never, never has he experienced the wonder that is Enjolras’ mouth like this. It’s soft, but rough, slow, but eager, his lips dragging along Grantaire’s shaft, meeting his hand halfway to ensure that Grantaire is covered. Every millimeter of skin forgotten, every nerve on fire with pleasure. 

 

Grantaire comes without warning, choking out a sob when Enjolras makes a hungry noise and swallows around him, pulling him deeper into his throat as Grantaire spurts across his tongue.

 

Enjolras pulls off, panting, diving for Grantaire’s mouth. He tastes like coffee and spunk, the bittersweet taste of it making Grantaire want to crawl inside him and live there forever. He reaches for Enjolras’ cock, needing to feel the weight of it in his palm, but Enjolras backs away.

 

“Can I fuck you?” His colour is high and his eyes are bright, but they’re glued to Grantaire’s, watching closely for reluctance.

 

“ _ Please _ ,” Grantaire whines, fumbling for the nightstand and the bottle of lube hidden inside. He hands over the bottle and lays back, pulling his knees up to give Enjolras better access.

 

“God, you’re perfect,” Enjolras groans, the fingers of one hand trailing over Grantaire’s testicles and rubbing against his hole. He’s staring, his attention focused solely on where Grantaire will take him in, tracing over the sensitive skin until Grantaire grunts with impatience. “Right, sorry.” Enjolras grins and slicks his hand.

 

He takes his time, piling pillows behind Grantaire until he’s almost sitting up, then stretching him until he’s hard again, squirming at each thrust. Enjolras’ cock is against Grantaire’s leg, smearing precome over his skin and the friction must be good, but not enough because when Enjolras finally takes himself in hand, he gasps. He leans down to kiss Grantaire, the head of his cock nudging at Grantaire, and then it’s inside, pressing in slowly while Enjolras deepens the kiss, his breath going high and tight as he eases in.

 

Grantaire is on fire, Enjolras’ cock feels huge, and he knows it’s been a while, but he swears nothing has ever left him this sensitive. Enjolras rocks into him, perched on the bed so he can touch, and kiss, and fuck Grantaire, all at the same time. It’s tender and intimate, and somehow domestic, like they’ve been doing this forever, when at the same time it’s new and exciting, and Grantaire wants to pray to a god he doesn’t believe in to keep Enjolras exactly where he is.

 

“I love you,” Enjolras says, kissing his cheek. “I know I’m not supposed to say that right now, but I can’t hold it in any longer.”

 

Grantaire is speechless, filled to the brim with Enjolras and still wanting more.

 

“I just needed you to know.” Enjolras never stops moving, never stops working himself into Grantaire, over and over, bringing them both closer to the end, thrusting just deep enough, just hard enough to spark explosions of light behind Grantaire’s closed eyelids.

 

“You’re the worst,” Grantaire laughs.

 

Enjolras grins, rolling his hips forward, steadying himself on Grantaire’s bent knees so he can grind in closer. “I know, I’m sorry.”

 

“I love you,” Grantaire says, linking his fingers over the back of Enjolras’ neck. “You’re impossible, but I love you.”

 

“Good,” Enjolras says, speeding up.

 

“Good? That’s all I get?”

 

“No,” Enjolras pants. “You get me.”

 

Grantaire kisses him, keening into his mouth when Enjolras changes the angle. It must work for him, too, because he speeds up, pulling Grantaire down the bed a little so he can thrust harder, faster, his hips digging into the flesh of Grantaire’s ass with every stroke.

 

“Yes,” Grantaire cries, his orgasm barrelling down on him. “Enjolras, yes!”

 

Enjolras groans, burying himself deep as he comes, his hips making abortive thrusts that grind his cock into Grantaire’s prostate and have him shaking apart, clinging to Enjolras above him.

 

They clean up, Enjolras dragging Grantaire into the shower so he can wash him while Grantaire leans against the cold tile, a dopey grin on his face, fighting to keep his eyes open. They dry off and slip under the covers, Enjolras curling around him tightly like if he’s not touching as much of Grantaire as possible, he might float away. Grantaire reaches back to splay a hand over Enjolras’ hip, doing his part to keep them connected. He’s drifting off when Enjolras’ lips brush against his ear.

 

“I love you,” he whispers.

 

Grantaire smiles. “I know, you told me.” 

 

“I just thought I should say it again. I didn’t want you to think it was a heat of the moment declaration.” 

 

Grantaire squeezes his hip in reassurance because he can hear the worry in Enjolras’ voice. “You don’t say things you don’t mean. You said it and I believe you.”

 

“Right. Good.” Enjolras says and settles back on the pillow.

 

He’s quiet, but Grantaire swears he can hear his brain going a mile a minute in the quiet darkness of the room.

 

“Enjolras?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I love you.”

 

Grantaire feels Enjolras let out a heavy breath, finally relaxing. He presses a kiss to the side of Grantaire’s neck and Grantaire can feel the curve of his smile against his skin.

 

“I love you, too, R.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
